by G. L. Baron
Had it been wise to accept Cavalli Gigli’s invitation?
Suddenly, he seemed to feel better. The cold air coming from Place Vendôme, combined with the cool of the shaving cream on his skin, had shaken him up.
In a few minutes he finished shaving and went back into the suite’s bedroom.
He went to the suitcase placed on a commode in Louis XVI’s style, and pulled out a pair of trousers in a light Prince of Wales check and a grey jacket. He added a white shirt and a black tie, decidedly too thin for his taste. He did not like that kind of tie, straight and narrow as a knitting needle. He preferred those of the nineties, big, tied with a showy Christensen knot that brought out the colours. But Clarissa had always followed fashion.
Clarissa.
Recently, his daily life had been unforeseeably overturned; his wife, without any warning, had decided to leave him. It was a totally unexpected decision.
My heart doesn’t beat like it used to, she had said only three months ago.
She collected her things and went back to her parents. Cassini had not objected. At first, he had simply remained silent, incredulous. They had no children and had been married for only two years, but had been engaged for a long time and had lived together for almost a decade. He had known Clarissa for more than half his life, but he just could not understand that phrase. My heart doesn’t beat like it used to.
His colleagues, his students and his closest friends did not see him down, at least in appearance. He continued with his life, his job and with five-a-side football on Thursday evenings. It looked like he had not felt the blow. But it was just that: appearance. His confidence had shattered and his pride had been wounded. His parents had advised him to distract himself, to go on holiday, to get to know new people.
Then, shortly after Christmas, Andrea Cavalli Gigli’s e-mail arrived, and here he was, in Paris.
At last he felt strong again. The dizziness had passed and the after-effects of the cocktails drank with that girl seemed to have disappeared. He looked at the unmade four-poster bed. She had gone without even saying goodbye.
He decided not to think about it. He had a decidedly interesting day before him; the appointment at the Louvre intrigued him.
No, Beatrice was wrong; it hadn’t been a mistake to accept the invitation.
Just then, the phone rang. Before answering, Cassini looked at his watch: it was 9:22.
‘Hello,’ he said with a sharp tone.
‘Professor, this is reception. I wanted to let you know that your driver has arrived.’ The voice was the same one that had woken him up earlier, friendly and in perfect Italian.
Cassini smiled and thanked the receptionist. Suddenly, however, seeing his reflection in the Baroque mirror between the windows made him wince. He must have cut himself shaving, because a small trickle of blood was running down his chin to his neck.
At this sight, the same scene from a few minutes before materialized again in front of his eyes: two hands, wrapped around a neck from which a copious stream of blood flowed. However, this time there was more detail; on the other side of the room there was a man whom he had not noticed before. He had asian features and two different-coloured eyes.
It was not that detail that shook him most. He winced when he suddenly remembered the face of the victim. He had not seen him in years, but had no difficulty recognizing him: it was Andrea Cavalli Gigli.
8
Chianti hills, December 26th. 11:34 a.m.
Andrea Cavalli Gigli’s villa rose on the hills, south of Florence. The main building – dating back to the seventeenth century – was an old farmhouse, and its elevated position enjoyed a landscape dominated by poplars, pine trees and vineyards that stretched out far into the distance.
‘You won’t feel any pain,’ Yukiko Nakamichi, the neural bioengineering expert who sat in front of him assured him. ‘Try and relax.’
Cavalli Gigli was sitting on a couch, without shoes, and was watching carefully. Meredith was beside him.
The Japanese woman took out two small translucent chips and sprinkled them with a clear gel.
If they were there, at the crucial phase of the experiment, the merit was due to the charisma, determination and above all, the great wealth, of Al Husayn. Shortly after falling ill with a rare form of amyotrophic lateral sclerosis, the Sheikh had been dedicated to finding a cure. To do so, he had acquired technological information, as well as biogenetic and engineering companies that could help him. Together with the companies, he was obviously rewarded with the services of their founders – usually young people with revolutionary ideas and few funds to implement them.
One of them was sitting behind a laptop playing with the mouse. Meredith stared at him with the expression of a curious cat. He was wearing a white coat and a pair of garish glasses. ‘Connect the electroencephalograph,’ she ordered. ‘Let’s not waste any more time. We did it with much less ceremony in the past…’
The young, plump, red-haired man smiled and nodded. He approached the superintendent and placed a blue elastic helmet gently on his head. It was of a rubbery material, similar to gum, but with dozens of red electrical wires traveling between the forehead and the nape of the neck. He put the device on his ears and buckled it with an elastic strap under his chin.
‘It’s just a precaution,’ he clarified, calmly. ‘We monitor the beta rhythm to verify that the voltage does not deviate from the average 19 microVolt.’
‘And the nuclear magnetic field?’ asked Cavalli Gigli, to whom they had briefly explained the technology’s function.
‘Don’t worry,’ continued the young man. He was an American called Timothy Dempsey, and despite having only just turned twenty-five, was one of the most brilliant minds discovered by Al Husayn. At the age of fourteen, he had won a scholarship at the Stockholm International Youth Science Seminar with the design of a microchip to be used as a controller for video games. With the money, he founded Solidweb and later realized that his patent went well beyond recreational applications. His company had been acquired by a multinational in Dubai, and he found himself at the court of his new patron, who had taken an immediate liking to him.
‘Usually we try not to use the word nuclear,’ continued the young man, running his hand through his hair. ‘It tends to lead to misunderstandings. Our system has nothing to do with radioactivity. It is based on a concentration of nanotechnology and biogenetics.’
‘What did you say you call those things?’ enquired the superintendent, observing the clear microchip that the Japanese held between a pair of tweezers.
‘OCST. Organic cell stimulating and sensing transistor,’ replied the young man. ‘Don’t worry, they’re all natural trinkets. They are organic and can remain in contact with the cells for a long time, without damaging any tissue. As I said, there’s no danger.’
‘Keep your eyes open.’ The woman shone a blue light into his pupils. ‘Relax. Think of a triangle. Trace it in your mind; inhale on the first side and exhale on the second and third.’
A big IPS monitor was positioned in front of Cavalli Gigli. ‘Let’s begin with some simple tests,’ announced Dempsey. ‘We need to calibrate the sensors. In a moment you’ll watch a video. Half of it is composed of photographs and the other half of disturbing images. You must say what you see for each one.’
Meredith knew that this was the stage that required more time. She judged it an unnecessary waste of resources, but despite that, she lay down on the bed and waited.
9
15 miles off the Hawaiian Islands (United States).
At the same time.
‘How long does it take to plan a civil war?’ Prince Ibrahim Al Husayn was leaning against the starboard rail on the main deck of his yacht. It was dark, but the reflections of the full moon made the ocean look as flat as a marble slab. The dark waters of the Gulf were reflected in the overlooking mirrored windows.
‘Depends. The problem isn’t to remove the lid of a pot that is about to explode.’ The man with wester
n features – whom the Prince knew only by the name of Edward – was sitting on the side of the Jacuzzi. He wore a baseball cap with the words ‘I ♥ Honolulu’ on it, a white shirt, khaki shorts and nautical shoes. He was much older than his interlocutor. ‘The difficulty is in understanding how much time and money will be needed to put that lid back on.’
‘My uncle has long lost control of our land,’ the Prince commented, fixing his shemagh, the red- and-white checked Muslim headgear.
‘Your emirate is not like Syria, Libya or Egypt. The Arab spring took place for economic reasons. People were starving,’ addressed the man with the hat. ‘Your uncle is not a tyrant.’
‘Why do you think that my family lives in exile in Dubai, Mr Edward?’ the Prince asked in a not-too-friendly tone. ‘Look what he’s done to us, before you decide whether he’s a tyrant or not.’
Edward did not comment. The Prince lived in comfort, touring the world on a Nuvolari & Lenard yacht of eighty-five metres and his father, despite everything, was still one of the richest men in the Middle East.
‘Take Somalia, for example. The civil war broke out in 1991 and still continues. The country is in chaos, dominated by foreigners and the underworld.’ Edward sipped a cocktail garnished with a slice of pineapple, and went on, ‘Always assuming one can really trigger a civil war, you never know how long it will last…’
At that moment, the Prince turned to the covered bridge. The bodyguard was motionless, his arms folded. He nodded and they were left alone.
‘It is said that your friends, in the nineties, fomented the civil war in the former Yugoslavia. Have you ever heard of the phenomenon of mass rape?’ the Prince asked him grimly, stroking his goatee.
‘During the war in Bosnia, the Serb militias conducted a planned strategy of sexual abuse towards thousands of Muslim women of Bosnian origin,’ said the Westerner, not understanding what the young man was getting at. ‘It was one of the reasons that sparked the war.’
‘It is said that they were paramilitary organizations, financed by NATO to organize everything. Just to ensure they had a war to fight.’
The Australian nodded. ‘Two ethnic groups, who until recently had lived quite peacefully side-by-side, suddenly turned against each other.’
‘I know that you don’t need any suggestions, but in my country there are also two ethnic groups,’ hissed Ibrahim pragmatically. ‘I don’t care how you’ll do it, but I want a civil war. Fast and with my uncle dead. And when my father goes to keep him company – very quickly, I imagine – my royal backside will be on the throne.’
Edward was not sure he could deliver what the Prince wanted, but kept that thought to himself. He knew that the Emir Bashar was anything but a fool, and he knew the ambitions of his nephew. But he had gone to the appointment for another reason altogether. It was time to introduce the subject…
‘We agree then. Before toasting – if I am not too intrusive – I would like to have those co-ordinates.’
The Prince smiled and simply scanned the dark sea. The moon was low on the horizon and drew long shadows on the cherry-wood planks of the bridge. ‘It is fair, Mr Edward. You are a businessman.’ He got out a small device on which you could see the map of Italy and a luminous point: ‘They’re in Tuscany. Good luck.’
*
Soon after, on the other side of the globe, Edward’s friends were already operating.
10
Chianti hills, December 26th. 12:01 p.m.
The experimental drone SR/C Shadow was flying high and silent above the rows of a vineyard.
Suddenly, it swooped down over a clearing and – as soon as it identified its target – began to circle the rim like a vulture.
Three kilometres away, the white Land Rover was launched at full speed along a road lined with cypress trees. A cloud of dust rose from the road surface as it raced past, then resettled immediately after.
‘Three people inside the house,’ announced one of the two mercenaries sitting behind. He watched the image of the villa from the overhead shot. He could see the shape of human figures, motionless, probably sitting.
‘Armed bodyguards?’ Hidetoshi Tanaka was sitting in the passenger’s seat, stroking the golden engraving of his Walther PPK. It was his favourite weapon, and not just because he had always been a fan of James Bond.
He appreciated the pistol’s long history with Nazi Germany, in addition to its manoeuvrability and low weight. Most of all, he liked the beautiful engraving on the barrel of a dragon inlaid with gold. It was his father’s last gift.
‘Negative,’ said the man who was watching the data sent by the drone’s sensors.
Rafael – a Senegalese with ebony skin and a grim look – was at the wheel.
When he met a van coming from the opposite direction, he murmured something under his breath. He was forced to slow down to let it pass but shot off soon after.
‘Well then, your baptism of fire should be smoother than expected,’ hissed Tanaka at the youngest of the four, sitting behind him, and on his first mission.
11
Chianti hills, December 26th. 12:09 p.m.
The experiment had been over for almost half an hour, and only Cavalli Gigli, Meredith and her bodyguard, Julia, were still in the library. A pale light penetrated through the French windows facing the garden, and hills shrouded in mist could be seen in the distance.
‘As I assured you, it was very easy,’ began the woman, giving a brief smile. Her face was tired. ‘I think it was worth it, don’t you? My husband’s youthful habit will allow you to guide the Uffizi for much longer…’
The superintendent sighed, but he was, in fact, very happy.
Meanwhile, Timothy Dempsey and Yukiko Nakamichi had dismantled the equipment and loaded it onto the black van, which at that moment was heading towards the city.
Suddenly, a thud echoed from beyond the door.
Julia jumped up from the couch where all three of them were sitting. She had an athletic body, fair skin like milk, and blonde hair. Her job was to watch over Meredith, and her senses – trained to danger – had warned her something was not right. She put her hand on the butt of her gun and stood still.
Cavalli Gigli and Meredith looked astonished. ‘What is it?’ the man asked, alarmed.
The bodyguard did not answer; she was sure she was not mistaken. Her muscles tensed.
A second later the library door was flung open. Three men entered: the one in front was a Japanese man who was flanked by a gigantic black man, two metres tall. Behind them was a young man in a blue suit.
‘Who are you?’ the landlord asked scornfully. ‘This is private property!’
Hide Tanaka smiled. A smile that chilled. Feral eyes of two different colours, so unnatural, stared at them. The flaw was called heterochromia: irises of two different colours – one green, and the other, brown. It was a fairly common feature in animals… cats and dogs. In humans it was far rarer; in some cultures it was considered a bad omen. ‘Do as we say, and no one will get hurt,’ he said in English, as if he was almost bored to be there. As he smiled, he slowly pulled out a semi-automatic with a golden barrel.
Julia, meanwhile, was standing next to the couch where Meredith and Andrea Cavalli Gigli were still sitting. She was looking for a way out. She had to act now, before the men got too close. Between them and the assailants there was an enormous conference table with a ceramic vase in the centre.
Meredith glanced at her handbag. Inside was the Glock 29 that she had brought with her. It was so small that it could be held with only three fingers, while the little finger remained out of use.
‘I guess you know what the OCS—’ Tanaka could not finish the sentence because Julia pulled out her gun and fired a shot. She was so fast that none of the three intruders had time to return fire.
The Japanese man seemed more surprised than afraid. He took cover behind the table, and for a moment he thought – annoyed – about the reassurances he had received before accepting this mission: ‘It will
be a breeze…’ Quite the contrary! It was not in the plan to be a target.
The bullet Julia had fired hit what she wanted: the vase in the centre of the table, which shattered into a thousand pieces. It had created a diversion so that her protégé could move towards the French doors behind them that opened onto the garden.
Within seconds the situation worsened. Tanaka would have had no scruples about killing them all, but it was not what he had programmed. The mission was supposed to be simple: take the device and go home. ‘It will be a breeze…’
Meredith took advantage of the distraction to approach Julia. As she moved a few steps, she took out the Glock 29. She knew how to use it, but had always hoped not to have to.
The black man, meanwhile, was holed up in the hallway with the other mercenary. If the two women had succeeded in reaching the French windows to go out into the garden, they would not have stood a chance; they would have fallen into the arms of the intruders’ accomplice, who was waiting for them by the Land Rover. By now, he must have had time to neutralize the Queen’s driver. He decided it was worth trying. He glanced at the young man next to him and ordered him to enter.
The boy obeyed. With one hand on his right ear to hear any radio instructions, he bent down and slipped behind the table.
Cavalli Gigli was a mask of fear, white as a corpse. One of the attackers was approaching along the wall, crawling with his back against the shelves crammed with books. Meanwhile, the two women were moving away in the opposite direction.
Suddenly, more shots. Julia, after noticing the young man who was leaning against the bookcase, fired two shots in rapid succession. She missed him, but he was forced to take refuge behind the bust of a marble statue.
At this point, Rafael had reached the opposite side of the room and was moving towards Meredith. Just as Tanaka understood the intentions of his man, Rafael pointed his Walther to the window and fired.